


Filling the Void

by sevsgirl72



Category: Psych
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-03
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-10-26 19:45:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,139
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/287169
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sevsgirl72/pseuds/sevsgirl72
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A WIP - This is a story about Lassiter and his admiration-from-afar of Shawn that turns into lust that become love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Rating: M for Mature (NC-17)  
> Warnings: Masturbation  
> Spoilers: Seasons 1[This won't really make sense unless you've seen 'Speak Now or Forever Hold Your Piece' 1x03]  
> Disclaimer: I do not own Shawn, Lassie-Face or Psych. They are all property of the USA Network. I am making no money from this.  
> AN1: Big thanks to eviinsanemonkey for giving this a once over :D  
> AN2: I was absolutely positive that ‘Forget Me Not’ came after ‘From The Earth to the Starbucks’ when I started this, but then I found out it didn't and couldn’t really change it so for the purposes of this just pretend it did. That’ll teach me to ever start a fic on a TTC bus again.

**Filling the Void Part 1**

Carlton Lassiter could tell you the exact moment he fell in love with Shawn Spencer and it wasn’t at first sight or anything as cheesy as that. Love was the farthest thing from his mind when he first met Spencer and it wasn’t harsh to say that he absolutely hated the man at first because it was the truth.

During the whole McCallum kidnapping and then the spelling bee murder he couldn’t stand the nonchalant way the infuriating man ignored or at times abused the law not to mention his general theatrics and useless pop culture references. It got under Carlton’s skin and his rage was dangerously present every time Spencer was around.

It all started to change at the Maxwell wedding. He felt a spark of something more, well maybe not a spark, nothing that extreme, but something definitely happened. Gus and O’Hara noticed something too if the looks they sent Spencer and himself afterward were anything to go by.

In the kitchen of the Hotel De La Cruz, just before the discovery of the concierges body, as Spencer was just about to start one of his theatrical performances and his hand slide down Carlton’s face, the detective had lost himself and he just wanted Spencer gone and out of the way; so he attacked. But in that last second as O’Hara was holding up the body that had fell on top of her and was calling for help, Carlton had Spencer enclosed in his arms. Their heavy breathing and racing hearts were so close and beating in some alluring counter rhythm with each others that in that instant Carlton felt that it was ok, like he could get used to that rhythm. It ended quicker than it started and the rage returned. He let go of Spencer and went about life as usual, ignoring what happened, because there was now a murderer as well as a thief to catch.

Of course then the supposed psychic had to go and run up his hotel room charge completely sticking him with the bill and somehow got everyone at the hotel to go along with him. But despite the rage that increased the case became a fuel for fantasy.

But it wasn’t until a few days later, after another case thankfully lacking in the psychic’s help, when he went home that he even thought about the scene in the kitchen again.

*

Carlton went through the usual routine, dropping his briefcase on the floor and his keys in the tray by the door but paused and looked around. Two years ago, before things with Victoria had gotten really bad, he’d have come home just like this to find her either waiting for him with dinner, or watching one of her shows. He missed it, well, not her, not anymore, but he missed someone being there. His whole body seemed to ache with the need for some other life in his place, and suddenly, there was a thought of Spencer dancing away in his flailing way. The mischievous man was definitely lively, Carlton couldn’t deny him that. The last person he’d had here was Lucinda. Their affair, if it could have been called that, had ended with an awkward goodbye at the station and since then there hadn’t been anyone or even an attraction to anyone. So the fact that he was entertaining the idea that having Spencer, the man that he couldn’t stand, fill the void was a bit absurd; he was good looking though, that was another thing that hadn’t escaped his notice.

Carlton made his way to his room, untying his tie and slipping it out of his collar as he went, laying it on his dresser when he got there, before taking off his jacket and hanging it up in the closet. His shirt was untucked, unbuttoned and flung into the hamper, all on autopilot and he was standing only in his pants before he was consciously thinking again, and once more it was all about Spencer.

If he was the straight, by the book, Catholic Irish man everyone at the station thought he was then now would have ended in some hetero-questioning panic attack. Repressed latent homosexual urges would have been ripping his soul apart, or what ever it was he remembered from his psych 101 class on sexuality in college. But instead of paying attention to that lecture, he did his own bit of experimenting and if there was one thing he learned it was he wasn’t gay, but Carlton figured that he wasn’t really straight either. So the thoughts of stripping Spencer, in much the same way he was beginning to slip off his own belt and pants, began to send his blood rushing south but it was hard to continue the image as he hung the pants up with the same care as everything else.

Sitting on his bed, he began to try and remember the way Spencer had felt so close to him, their bodies jostling each other as Carlton tried to manage any hold he could, the familiar tingles of arousal reached his cock he laid back.

Carlton closed his eyes and went back to that moment; the short, warm breath ghosting across his face, the sweet smell of pineapple and a musk that was distinctly Spencer. Not leaving the vision, Carlton let his hand roam down his body until it was lying atop his boxer-covered, swelling cock. He began to caress himself slowly through the cloth, but soon it just wasn’t enough and the boxers joined the shirt in the hamper.

He took the fantasy further as he stroked himself and imagined Shawn’s wrists restrained above his head as Carlton pinned him to a bed, marvelling at the skin on skin contact as he’d align their cocks and tease them both until finally he’d allowed the writhing body beneath him to thrust in abandon. Carlton thrust once more up into his hand, hips arching off the bed, coming with a loud groan.

Breathing heavily, Carlton let himself live in the fantasy just a little while longer before opening his eyes to the darkened bedroom. Padding to the washroom he cleaned himself up before slipping back into his room and into bed.

At the time he was sure it was just a lustful fantasy, based on the gratuitous groping. Nothing more. Carlton was sure that by the following week it’ll probably be some swimsuit model he catches a glimpse of in a tabloid at the grocery story, not golden skinned Shawn Spencer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Filling the Void Part 2**

When the next week came and went, and then another one, it wasn’t Carmen Electra or Angelina Jolie that Carlton’s dreams and fantasies revolved around; no, it was still Shawn Spencer with his messy hair and incongruous fits of ‘psychic divination’. It wasn’t helping that they seemed to be happening more frequently with varying degrees of unwarranted groping of some part of Carlton. It was just too much.

So Carlton convinced himself that he just needed to get it out of his system in order to move on as his solo performances and fantasies obviously weren’t helping him at all. Tom Blair’s Pub seemed the perfect answer. He couldn’t really remember much of the first night he’d been there, so why not try that again.

“Lassie?” Carlton froze; drink half way to his mouth. It was still early but he’d already been there an hour, was well into his third scotch, and no one had caught his attention yet, but this - Spencer - this wasn’t how it was supposed to be. He didn’t want a repeat of the last time. He was supposed to pick up someone, someone that wasn’t Spencer, buy them a few drinks go back to her, or his, but preferably her place, re-establish his self-control and be done with the distractions and fantasies. Then something even worse overcame the frustration – suspicion. Was Spencer following him? Was he really a psychic and knew about all the lonely nights, and elicit thoughts?

“Spencer.” Carlton nodded mechanically while searching his body language for anything that might betray his intentions.  Just saying the name though, the way it made his heart beat just a little bit faster, got him thinking that this must be some cosmic joke. That someone was going to jump out of stage left any minute, tell him that it is all a dream or some terrible experiment where he’s actually a brain in a vat that scientists are studying to see just how much one man can take.

“It is you! Didn’t think I’d ever catch you in here again.” Spencer saddled up onto the stool next to him.

“You didn’t catch me the last time.” Carlton said sullenly remembering the large bruise on his forehead that failure had gained him.

“Well, it happened so quickly…” Shawn sniffed. “Are you wearing cologne? Wait, are you on a date?” Shawn sat up on the barstool and grabbed Carlton’s shoulder to steady himself while he looked around. “Where is she?” Carlton actually laughed and relaxed slightly. “Some psychic you are Spencer.” If proof was ever needed of how fraudulent the man was, it was this; he never would let Carlton get away with his current obsession if he actual knew. Shawn sat back down but his hand stayed on his shoulder for much longer than was needed.

The laugh earned him a grin from the younger man, it wasn’t often he actually heard that from the detective, in fact Shawn was pretty sure he never had heard the man laugh.

“No date then, just what, cruising?” Shawn tried but the moment he said it he realized how weird it felt to think of the idea of Lassiter cruising for women. “I didn’t think you did that.”

“I’m not cruising Spencer. I’m just here for a drink.” Carlton lied. “Do you want one?”

“Are you asking me to have a drink with you?”

It would have just been wise for Carlton to leave, but Spencer would still remember him being here. At least a liquored up fake-psychic would be much easier to deal with. Lassiter rolled his eyes and just called the bartender ordering a fruity drink with pineapple for Spencer without waiting for an answer and another scotch for himself. Shawn watched not saying anything in a quiet strange ‘what happened to the Lassiter I know and when was he replaced with a human’ type way until his drink came.

“Cheers, Spencer” Lassiter raised his glass and Shawn mirrored his gesture.

“Thanks Lassie.”

The detective nodded. “You don’t have to stay if you’re here with someone or what ever.”

“No, totally solo tonight too.”

“Really? I didn’t think you did that.” Lassiter  mocked his earlier comment.

“It’s the hair. Some times it is just too awesome. Scares people away.”

Carlton made a grand gesture of looking and shook his head despite wanting to run his own hands through Shawn’s hair. “No, I think it’s the juvenility.”

“Hey.” Spencer scoffed, a little miffed at the comment.

“I’m not saying it doesn’t work all the time.”

“Thanks…I think.”

The pair descended into silence and Lassiter into another drink while Shawn was still stuck on the hair comment. Did that mean that Lassiter noticed his hair some of the time?

While the two men sat there, a woman came to stand beside Lassiter, doing everything to get him to talk to her, primping her hair and even accidentally bumping into him, but to her chagrin, none of that registered at all. Instead his eyes were stuck watching Shawn’s hands, one around his drink and the other playing with the little umbrella with a speared pineapple piece on the end.

Shawn, missing nothing, watched the woman in her attempt. She was the type that any other man would have been drooling over. Just getting to talk to her should have made Lassiter thankful, but Lassiter’s gaze was riveted and never wavered. Shawn realized that maybe the detective was a little more complex than he thought. It brought with it a troubling question that Shawn was suddenly hyperaware of. With all those moments of grabbing the detective, fighting with him, had he just been playing with the man or did he have an actual attraction to him too?

If this night was about to go he way he was starting to get the feeling it would, he’d need to know the answer. Shawn may be a menace to the general public but he wasn’t cruel and definitely wouldn’t have been stringing Lassiter around if he’d known of the possibility of attraction. He loved every moment of trespassing Lassiter’s personal space. Usually, Shawn only associated Lassie with lanky limbs, general cluelessness and a scary perchance of being shot, but recently he started to become more aware at how much he was starting to like those limbs. Lassiter was all hard edges, large hands and passion - all of which he felt in the hotel kitchen – traits that kept Shawn up at night and distracted during the day.

Imagining that, in bed, Shawn was completely prepared to up his game and turn to flirting, but Lassiter ruined it in one question.

“Would you like to continue this at my place?” Carlton asked in a manor, stiffer than his usual, but awkward.

“Are you asking me to come home with you?” Shawn was completely broadsided and he stared wide-eyed and Lassiter. He expected something, a hint of insincerity or doubt. It never came. “You’re serious?” Carlton nodded and drank down the last drop of scotch; the last taste of courage he needed.

“Lassie, I didn’t know you swung that way and I’ve been known to be able to pick the pinkest flamingo out of a bunch of really pink flamingos.”

“Spencer,” Lassiter paused and turned in his seat so that they were now face to face, tired of the sideway glances that implied flirting, which he definitely was not doing, and knees touching. Maybe this whole thing was a bit desperate, but this man was under his skin and he wanted to be touching ever part of that golden body. He wanted to be over him, under him, sweaty and panting. “Shawn, look. I’m taking a chance here, with my job – well, you know what I mean. I don’t know if you are of the persua – I don’t know if you swing this way or not. You can say ‘yes or no’ and I can leave and none of this will be mentioned again.”

Shawn was speechless for once. In his mind he saw all the moments where he’d touched Lassiter, sat in his lap, ran his hand down his face, the Del La Cruz kitchen; just remembering it sent a memory of arousal through him. He hadn’t even told Gus how hot it was to have Lassiter all over him like that.

Carlton was watching Shawn’s face raptly. A faint flushness was coming to the man’s face and his eyes seemed to darken when the met his own.

“Yes. Yes I’ll come with you.”

Carlton forced himself not to smile. “One promise, and it’s one you better keep Spencer. This won’t be mentioned after. No talking to me differently at the station, no jokes or anything.”

“Gee Lassie, do you come with a rule book too?” Carlton gave him the coldest glare he could muster at the comment and Shawn apologized, “I get it Lassie. But it’s a little weird that’s all.”

The men walked out of Tom Blair’s Pub side by side. Even if you were looking closely, you wouldn’t have been able to tell what was going on and that is exactly how Carlton was going to keep it.

“How did you get here?” Carlton asked and Shawn pointed to his motorcycle. Carlton glanced at his car than back to the motorcycle; if he offered to drive that meant conversation and an awful silence and another drive to get him back to his bike after.

“I’ll just follow you.” Shawn offered saving them both from that terrible fate.

Lassiter got in the car alone and Shawn on his bike trailed behind. Only once during the drive did Carlton want to slam on the brakes and yell at Spencer to forget it, but it fluttered away quickly enough and soon he was pulling into his driveway and getting out of his car, Shawn right behind him.

Shawn hovered behind the taller man as he unlocked the door and his fingers played with the hem of Carlton’s jacket. Carlton just barely felt it, but it was enough for him to fumble with the key trying to find the lock. A moment of fear came over him before turning the knob that if he didn’t calm down the whole night might end faster than he wanted it to but the fear fled quickly when he boldly stepped over the threshold and grabbed for Shawn.

Once the door was closed, Lassiter backed Shawn up against it and kissed him. It was all insane, irrepressible passion with the slightest hint of fear. Shawn hadn’t known Lassiter capable of any of this, but the lips were gone quickly.

“Is this ok?”

“More than Lassie. But you do know. I don’t do this. Not usually. Despite what you think, maybe even what you’ve heard. I’m not some kind of –”

“What are you saying?” Carlton narrowed his eyes.

Shawn shrugged. “I just don’t want you to think… I go home with a different person every night and that I’m some sort of – you know?”

“I don’t think you’re a slut Spencer. That’s not why I asked you here.”

Such a vulgar word out of Carlton’s mouth gave Shawn a shiver of anticipation. This was a new person, a new creature even. This was Carlton, not Lassie or Detective Lassiter and he wasn’t Shawn Spencer SBPD psychic.

“Shawn.” Carlton kissed him chastely on the lips before moving up his jaw line to his ear and whispered “I want you, in the bedroom. Now.”

***

Shawn woke up in Lassiter’s bed the next morning long after the detective had left for work. In the kitchen he found a note telling him there was coffee in the thermos and pineapple in the fridge. As he munched on a slice of pineapple, Shawn puzzled over the whole turn of events. They hadn’t said much to each other after they reached the bedroom, they hadn’t needed to. They seemed to fit together somehow. But Shawn swore he was going to abide by Lassiter’s rules and pretend it never happened. That way, maybe, Lassiter might be up for a repeat. It was a backward way of going about things and that is how Shawn liked it. Nothing was ever simple between Lassiter and him, so why should this be?


End file.
